#I’ve been trying to kind of balance my doodles with reblogs I’ve had saved in my drafts but im only so strong you guys

[puppyeared]

brain worms telling me to draw my sillies again im gonna lose it

[selkiesbittybonanza]

Hey, sorry if im bugging ya, i just wanted to check up on you. See if your feeling alright, or at least better than your last update (this is probably weird to see from someone you dunno, my bad about that, normally im a bit of a lurker cause im afraid of bothering people n such) if your not feeling well enough to answer then thats fine, do whatever you can to help yourself get through everything (and if need be i can send ya some get well doodles or pics of some dogs n cats in my family to wish you and the rest of your family well health and healing from your dearly departed) holy heck i made this long, sorry! Have a lovely day!

I want to say how flattered I am to receive an ask like this... I’m touched that people still think of me despite my lack of original content.

I’ve taken a few days to come up with a response, how much information is too much? How much detail do I want to share vs how much I feel my followers are entitled to? (Don’t worry, I know I don’t have to share anything I don’t want to.)

I’m sure many of my followers have noticed that I still reblog UT art and other media to this blog and my personal blog because I still LOVE this fandom, LOVE bittys, and love being the person behind this blog.

My health this year has been a cascade of diagnosis which have affected me mentally, physically and emotionally. I’m happy to say that as of now I think we’ve hit on the right balance of medication that will keep me healthy. But that doesn’t mean the damage that has already been done will just disappear. I’ve got multiple organ damage including (minor) brain damage. This damage is all reversible; all I have to do is take my new course of medication and let it build up.

I’ve been lucky that none of this has made me miss much work - but work... is it’s own kind of stress. My workplace has made huge changes to adapt to the pandemic and it’s a continuous balance of learning and relearning protocols and applying what I know TODAY to helping my clients while keeping everything straight. It hasn’t been easy. And it’s hard to be the face/voice to represent a lot of anxiety and resentment while feeling those same emotions myself.

Emotionally? Well my health issues have taken a toll there, too. I’ve also lost 3 important family members since the pandemic started, none of them to COVID but it certainly affected HOW they died and HOW my family and I could mourn them.  Same with my pets, I had to say good bye to my 3 year cat this weekend. Cancer. Too far gone to fight. AND I WOULD HAVE FOUGHT FOR HIM. I had enough savings to fight HARD... but all the money in the world wouldn’t have been enough. I couldn’t be with him at the end, COVID protocols and I’ll carry that regret and anguish with me forever. 

So now me and his brother cat are... adjusting.... to the new normal of our home. I keep wanting to come back to this blog and every time I feel the courage enough to come back something ELSE slaps me down. The brain damage has taken a toll on my concentration, it’s harder for me to come up with stories than it used to be. I don’t have a timeline for any of this. Things could still get worse. But things could get better - and I’m trying to keep that hope going. Take care of your Blood Pressure, kids! 

[theashemarie]

Demo Brew Ch. 3 | Pearlina

☆ Reblogs appreciated! ☆

↪Chapter 1: [The Bet]

↪Chapter 2: [The Squid Sisters]

Read one chapter ahead on AO3!

Chapter 3: The Song

By all rights, things should be different after this revelation, but nothing changes. Callie and Marie are still just Callie and Marie after all, though they do sing more when the shop is empty. Three seems to relax a little too, as if she was holding all the tension of the secret in her body, and Pearl easily feeds off the energy. She feels like she’s coming back into herself, back into the Pearl that’s all confidence and swagger. The past six months have been a little rough, all things considered. Adjusting to the job (the job she didn’t need but kept coming back to), adjusting to Callie and Marie, adjusting to Three, adjusting to Marina...

And, now she’s trying to decide if punk music really is her thing after all.

It’s been a creeping thought, ever since she saw Callie, Marie, and Three’s reaction to her scar. But, she doesn’t want to just drop her band, but they’re also not the most cohesive unit anyway. It’s almost a self-fulfilling prophecy in a way—the punk group that’s dysfunctional and awful to each other. Their lead guitarist is known for showing up late and drunk, and while Pearl isn’t exactly the most reliable person in the world, she likes to think that she’s dedicated to the cause. She doesn’t want to be arrested one day because her bandmates are caught drunk and belligerent after a gig either, but that’s a whole other issue.

But, most of all, she wonders what it would be like, to start a group with Marina. Their voices would probably go well together, and they’re just different enough that their stage presence would be interesting and fun. She wants to change her image anyway. She’s getting a little sick of wearing black all the time.

“I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out,” Three says when she spies Pearl staring pensively at her notebook. She’s doodled a few hearts beside the scribbled song lyrics from yesterday. She quickly draws a few skulls beside the hearts, just for balance.

“What? Callie and Marie? I totally knew,” she lies.

“Yeah, and I can fly.” Three grabs a scone out of the pastry display and nibbles on it. “You grew up rich, right?”

It’s so out of nowhere that Pearl has to look up from her doodles. “Yeah? Why?”

Three shrugs. “Just curious why you’re here is all.”

“Callie didn’t tell you about the bet?”

Three shakes her head and takes a large bite of the scone. “Callie’s big on privacy. She says that ‘everyone deserves their secrets!’” The last of that is said in a peppy imitation of Callie’s upbeat voice, and Pearl can’t help but chuckle. “I was just wondering, since it seemed like your whole punk thing was taking off too. You’re not like me. Stuck here until the next big thing.”

It's so painfully true, and Three says it so easily. Three isn’t like Pearl—she has to scrape to make it to her next paycheck without going hungry. Most of the time, that involves eating all she can of the leftover pastries or sandwiches at the end of the day, and sometimes Pearl thinks she sees Callie or Marie give her money. Pearl has considered offering her some cash, but she doesn’t want to offend her. If there’s one thing she understands, its pride, and people always have a lot of it when it comes to money.

Pearl sighs and leans back. She’s not wearing her usual black today—decided to go with an oversized sweater, a pop of pink that goes well with her dark jeans—and she thinks that that’s what’s got her in this weird mood. She doesn’t really want to be the punchy punk princess anymore.

“I don’t know about that,” Pearl says. “I love music but I’m not sure if that’s the scene for me.”

“Oh yeah?” Three leans against the back counter, between the espresso machine and the blender. “You gonna sell out? Go mainstream?”

Pearl bristles a little. “Maybe I am! The mainstream could use a little something like me! I’d refresh the hell out of it! The Squid Sisters are the biggest thing right now, but behind those masks they’re still just another poppy idol group.”

Three smiles and crosses her arms. “Don’t let Callie and Marie hear you say that. They think they’re changing the world. Their music saves people.” She shakes her head and laughs, as if she just told some kind of joke. “I think that’d be fresh as hell. You trying to shake things up, I mean. You’ve got the voice. I say go for it.”

Pearl glances back at her notebook, at its scribbled lyrics to a song that’s already written. “It’d be pretty bad if I ditched my band. They’d hate me.”

Three shrugs. “So? You know they’re definitely using you for your money, right? You’re the lead but you also have all the cash. They wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

She’s right and Pearl knows it. Her whole life, people have pushed their way closer to her in order to get closer to her money. It’s a fact of life—people will kiss up to you if they think it’ll get them somewhere. That’s probably one reason why she likes it here so much with Callie, Marie, and Three. They don’t want her money. They want her.

And Marina. Marina doesn’t know either, and she actually trusted Pearl with her demo. Ebb & Flow sounds like it had been recorded on a tape recorder—an act so intimate and personal that every time Pearl listens to it she can almost imagine Marina holding the microphone in her hand as she pressed the record button. Marina trusted her with that—

“You’re right,” Pearl mutters, feeling a lot like the floor has just been ripped out from under her. Suddenly, everything with Marina crystalizes.

Because Pearl likes Marina, and she’s pretty sure that Marina likes her.

+++

At least, Pearl thinks she does.

It’s Saturday when Marina comes back in, and Pearl is jittery. So, so jittery, but she’s playing it off. She’s got her swagger back, finally, and she’s determined to use it.

“Hey Rena, what can I get you?” She leans deep into the counter, chin on her fist, and she smirks her best smirk.

“Hm, I think I’ve finally tried everything...” Marina mutters, staying at a respectable distance from the counter. She’s so cute that Pearl almost turns into a squid right there, like she used to back when she was fifteen and overwhelmed. Nothing made the world slow down like turning back into your childhood form.

 “You’ve tried everything twice. I think you’re just looking for an excuse to keep coming back to see me.” Pearl’s smirk changes into a small, sly grin, and she sees Marina blush, just there on her cheeks. She swallows hard to keep herself from smiling even bigger.

“Maybe I just really like coffee,” Marina shoots back. Then, when Three pushes through the door with a tray of small sandwiches, she adds, “Or maybe I just really like to see Three!”

Three puts the tray down with a great clatter and makes a show of looking flattered. “Oh you tease.” She waves her hand in Marina’s direction. “I’m afraid that I’m taken though. I’m married to the job.”

Marina laughs, a small thing that’s barely audible, and Pearl’s knees turn to jelly. “I took too long!” Marina laments. “I guess I’ll have to settle for watching you from afar.”

“You need to move on!” Three cries. She pulls the back of the pastry case open and starts arranging the sandwiches on their small plates, like ducks in a row.

“I’m right here,” Pearl butts in, stomping her foot for emphasis.

“Sorry Pearl.” Marina giggles again.

“Yeah, Pearl. Sorry you had to witness the sauciest love story of our generation,” Three adds.

“I was trying to be smooth,” Pearl whines under her breath in Three’s direction. Then when she realizes what she just said, she turns to Marina with large eyes.

If Marina heard, she makes no indication. Instead, she steps closer to the counter and pokes at the small menu that they have posted there. “I’ll take a black tea. No sweetener, please.”

Pearl recovers quickly. “What, you can get addicted to caffeine but not sugar?”

Marina shrugs. “I get my sugar elsewhere.”

Pearl swears that she sees her wink. The world goes super quiet for a moment, and suddenly all she can see is the floor, and the ceiling, and since when did everything get so big?

“Pearl?” And there’s Marina, leaning over the counter to look at her. And Three is there, like a tower.

“Oh, you little squid,” Three says, exasperated.

Pearl picks herself up quickly. Forms her limbs back into place and grows a neck and stomach. Accidental squid form at twenty because a cute girl flirted back at her. She really is a gay disaster.

She has to rescue herself, and fast, before Marina writes her off as an out of control, lovestruck fool. She dusts her clothes off, picks a piece of white fuzz off of her t-shirt, and points a strong finger at Marina. “I have something for you.”

“Oh...?” Marina is pinned in place by Pearl’s point so she can only stand there while Pearl marches toward the back, where her bag and notebook are waiting. She cleanly rips the page with the edited song out and walks back, stiff-kneed.

“Here. Don’t read it now. I’ll get your tea.”

Marina takes it and follows her instructions. The slip of paper disappears into the bag, and Pearl quickly stirs together Marina’s drink. Three stands there, like a mother, like a principal, like Pearl is liable to make an even bigger fool of herself, and Pearl can’t blame her.

As she hands Marina her drink, Marina accepts it quickly, too quickly. Pearl can’t put it down on the counter and slide it to her like she usually does. Marina intercepts her, wraps both her hands around Pearl’s. “Thank you,” she says as they hold eye contact.

It’s the hottest thing Pearl’s ever experienced, and it’s just their hands wrapped around a to-go cup.

+++

Marina comes back an hour later. Pearl isn’t in the front because it’s her turn to bake (burn) the pastries. Everything’s homemade and they need more bread, so at least she can enjoy herself with the kneading, the punching, the forming of the dough, and she does, but she also can’t help but feel like there’s a creeping panic coming on. She just handed that shit to Marina like it was no big deal! She was so cool about it! She just handed it to her!

Like, ‘hey Marina, I loved your song! Do you take constructive criticism?’ What is wrong with her? She didn’t even warn Marina! Just handed her a note like it was some ‘will you date me? check yes or no’ situation. Oh, she’s so fucked. She’s fucked sideways. She’s fucked into next week. She’s fucked. She’s fucked, she’s fucked, she’s fucked, she’s fucked—

“Hey Marina!” Three yells, loudly, from the front, at a much higher volume than she usually does. She’s basically hollering. “You’re back!”

Pearl is up to her elbows in dough, so she can’t exactly go out there. But Three is screaming. But also Pearl can’t go out there. But also she can’t not go out there. She stands there, panicked, stricken, trying to melt into the floor. Her knees almost give out and she’s about two degrees away from squid form again when Three yells again.

“Yeah! Pearl’s here! Do you want me to get her?!” Three’s voice is louder, and Pearl can imagine it—Marina, with her arms crossed, angry at Pearl, while Three, who knows exactly what Pearl handed Marina earlier, tries to hold everything together. Oh, this is bad.

“Okay, I’ll get her!” Three darts through the door and sees Pearl, hands and counter dusted with flour “What are you doing! Marina’s here! Get out there!”

“I can’t!” Pearl searches for an excuse. She waves her hands at the football of dough on the counter. “The gluten is gonna set!”

“I’ll do it!” Three reaches into the flour canister and claps her hands together, sending up a puff of white. “Go out there! She wants to talk to you!”

Pearl begrudgingly shakes as much dough off of her hands as she can before running them under the sink. “Did she look upset?”

Three grins at her. “She looked excited. Now go!”

Pearl death marches through the door and hopes that her face doesn’t look as grim as she feels. Marina is there, looking disheveled. Her headphones are gone, replaced with another hat, which she keeps tugging down.

“There you are! Come with me.” Marina turns to leave, just like that, as if Pearl can just ditch her job at a moment’s notice just for her.

Well, she can, but the point is that Marina shouldn’t be assuming things. Even if she is right.

“I’m going on break!” Pearl cries as she rips her apron off. Three sticks her head out of the back and grins at her.

Pearl follows Marina out onto the street. It’s cold and she considers running back in for her jacket, but Marina looks spooked. Pearl doesn’t want to give her a chance to get away, so she just crosses her arms and ducks her head against the stinging wind.

“This way,” Marina leads her away from the main thoroughfare, where all the foot traffic is—Inkopolis Plaza is the busiest area of the city, where tourists rub arms with professional turf war kids, where fashion models and music groups come on their time off, and Marina stands apart, even in her shapeless sweater dress and tights. Her hair is longer than it was when Pearl first met her, and she seems to have finally found her footing. Pearl’s mountain girl finally at home in the city.

She’s mooning again, like she’s fifteen years old and getting ready for a first date, but she can’t help it. Now that she’s out here, in the cold, in the real world, she sees just how beautiful Marina is, just how different her mannerisms and presence are. She wants nothing more than to sit in this moment and let it percolate. She wants to stand as close as she can to Marina and let their hands brush, wants their fingers to lace, wants to pull Marina along behind her and explore the city.

She wants to be with Marina. That’s it. She just wants to spend time with her. That’s... That’s a new type of desperate want that she’s never ever experienced.

And it’s... It’s really nice.

“C’mon Pearl!” Marina is waiting for her next to a nondescript door, about two blocks from Fresh Start. She easily unlocks the door with quick fingers, keying in the code to the lock with practiced ease. Pearl jogs to catch up, and Marina pulls her inside by the end of her sleeve. Their fingers brush and Pearl can feel her face heat up.

The room is dark, and Marina easily flips a switch. It’s a landing, with a long hallway in front of them and stairs to the right. Marina quickly takes the steps, jumping up two at a time with her long legs. Pearl follows suit, trying to seem cool, using all of her energy and her strong knees to leap up after her. They stop in front of another door with another lock, this time with an actual key, which Marina quickly slots into place. Her keyring jangles with all kinds of bits and bobs, and Pearl just catches glimpse of a Squid Sisters keychain.

This door leads into a small apartment, about half the size of Pearl’s bedroom at home. There’s a tiny kitchenette to the right, a door to a wet bathroom on the left, and ahead of her the bedroom and living area are all one room. The bed is made, and the comforter is a bright green; the walls are covered with music posters, some recent, some old, some antique, some human—

Pearl barely has a chance to take more than that in, because Marina tows her into a tiny, itty bitty closet just to the left of the main door. It’s so small that Pearl feels huge. She’s immediately accosted by coats and jackets, all of which smell just like Marina, and she has to struggle to find a spot where she can breathe without getting fabric in her mouth. And then Marina piles in right after her, carrying something dark and bulky in her hands.

It is at this precise moment that Pearl realizes that she just followed this girl, who she barely knows outside of their small interactions at Pearl’s place of employment, down an alley, into a sparsely populated area of the city, through a locked door, up some stairs, through another locked door, and then let her drag her into a closet. She’s heard that people who think they’re in love do stupid shit, but this is next level.

Silently, she hopes that if Marina kills her, that her father never ever finds out. He’d spend millions of dollars to bring her back only to kill her again.

Marina reaches up and pulls the cord for the light. A bare bulb illuminates and Pearl realizes that the coats and jackets are all old, patchy, and a couple seasons out of style. Marina beams at her and hands Pearl a microphone. The bulky thing is an old-fashioned tape recorder, with a cassette in it and everything.

“This is the only place I can record,” Marina explains. There’s a long cord between the mic in Pearl’s hand and the recorder, and Marina presses a button to rewind the tape.

“I see.” Pearl swallows thickly and thinks back to her recording studio at home, with its large soundproof sound booth and sound boards, professional microphones and digital storage. This closet with all of its fabric is close to soundproof, but Pearl imagines that it can’t be great, acoustically. “It’s nice,” she croaks. Her throat is very dry.

“Thanks!” Marina beams. “I bought all the coats to help dampen as much of the sound as I could.” She looks down as the recorder makes a click. “Okay, so the tape is in the right place. Just sing your part and hopefully I can mix them together without too much trouble.”

“Wait, wait.” Pearl waves her hands and smacks into a large leather jacket that has to be two sizes too big for Marina. “What are we doing?”

“This.” Marina reaches into the pocket of her dress and shoves a sheet of paper into Pearl’s confused hands. “You wrote that right? I want you to record what you wrote.”

Pearl unfolds it and yep, that’s the sheet she ripped out of her notebook, with the lyrics that she wrote on a whim, and her scribbled music staffs. Oh jeeze, what has she gotten herself into?

She’s flattered, and panicked, and excited—because clearly Marina loved what she wrote. She loved it so much that she had to hear it for herself. But suddenly Pearl can’t feel her own voice. Her throat is dry, and she’s hasn’t actually sung in months because what she does with her band is scream. Melodic screaming, skilled screaming, but screaming all the same. She reaches up and touches her throat, as if that’ll make a difference, and tries to swallow again.

“I can’t...” she says, feeling like a cad, like a fraud. Marina makes a soft, confused sound and Pearl feels like she owes her an excuse. “I’m not warmed up...” She doesn’t want to tell Marina that she hasn’t sung for real in so long that her range has shifted, has shortened, that even the rhythmic chanting that she wrote might be too much, especially here with Marina so close, making Pearl’s hearts beat out of sync, creating a drum solo out of her chest.

She can’t imagine trying to harmonize with Marina’s strong, melodic voice. She can’t imagine letting Marina hear her sing, especially here in this closet.

“That’s okay!” Marina says. She’s still fiddling with the tape recorder and hasn’t looked up to see Pearl’s pale, pale face. “This is just a demo. It doesn’t have to sound perfect.”

“Reena...” Pearl sighs and that gets Marina to look up. Pearl is holding the microphone so tight in her fist and her fingers are bleached of all color. “I can’t.”

Marina stares at her for a long time, her eyes swimming with some unsayable emotion. Pearl can’t tell if she’s disappointed, angry, sad, or a combination of all three. She wants to squirm under the attention, under her own shame, and she reaches for the door, just so she can escape back into the air and the light and get away from this terrible, frustrating moment.

“No.” Marina grabs Pearl’s hand, the one still wrapped around the microphone, and her palm is cool. It jolts something inside Pearl, and she turns back. “No, Pearl. I know you can do this. I’ve heard your voice.”

“What? No you haven’t.” Pearl’s in disbelief, but she can’t pull away, not with Marina’s hand wrapped around hers. Her hand is decently bigger than Pearl’s, and it’s so nice. “That demo I gave you doesn’t count.”

“Not that.” Marina smiles then, and pulls Pearl back, away from the door. She pulls her into her chest, into a hug, and Pearl allows herself to be embraced even though she doesn’t know what she did to deserve it.

“I heard you singing in the shop,” Marina continues. She rubs her hand on Pearl’s back. “You’re really good.”

“If you say so...” Pearl sighs, because she can’t really say no when she’s being hugged like this. “Why are you hugging me?”

Marina pulls back slightly so that Pearl can see her bright, cheery face. “You seemed like you needed it!”

Pearl smiles too, because she did need it. She needed it so badly. She hasn’t been hugged in so long.

And it is then that she realizes exactly who she’s hugging. Her face blooms red and she feels her hearts donkey kick, jumping into a high-speed race against the clock. She swears Marina must be able to feel it.

“Will you sing for me now? Please Pearlie?” Marina pouts out her lip, like she knows just which of Pearl’s buttons to push. Pearl feels like she’s going to pass out right there, just from that nickname alone, and then Marina goes and pouts—

She has no choice, really.